An Irresistible Bachelor(90)

He focused on his brother. "Thanks, Nate, this has been really helpful."

Nate looked a little confused, but then slapped his hands on his knees and got up. "Always glad to help. Even when it's just listening."

They started for the door.

"So how long are you here for?" Jack asked.

"Thought I'd hang around for the party and then go up to Montreal to see Spike and Louie."

Jack killed the lights and they headed upstairs. "How are those two nut jobs?"

"Still out of control. So naturally I'm thinking of going into business with them. We might buy a restaurant together:"

"The rolling stone is thinking of settling down?"

"Not at all. I'm just buying a joint, brother." Nate shrugged. "Anyway, I've saved some money."

"You have?"

"Don't sound so surprised. It's not your kind of money, but it's enough to get us started."

Jack stopped as they emerged into the hall. "Look, if you find something, just let me know. I'll be happy, to give you—”

"Don't even go there. You have enough dependents and I don't want to be a charity case."

Jack paused, thinking back to Callie saying those very same words to him at the Plaza. It felt like a lifetime ago.


"Well, keep me in mind if you want a loan."

"Will do, brother." Nate grinned. "But don't hold your breath."



Callie opened the door to her bedroom and looked out into the hall. The only sound she could hear was Artie smacking his chops after a yawn and rearranging himself on her bedroom floor.

She quickly crossed the hallway and knocked on Jack's door. There was no answer.

"Looking for him?"

She wheeled around. Nate was coming down the hall, a book in his hand, a grin on his face.

"Ah—yes."

"He's down in his study." The man paused and whispered, "Don't worry, I'm discreet as hell. Oh, and avoid the third stair from the bottom, it creaks like a bitch if you hit it wrong."

He shot her a wink and sauntered down to his bedroom.

Moving quickly, Callie made her way downstairs, judiciously avoiding the stair Nate had warned her about.

When she got to Jack's study, the door was open. He was sitting in a pool of light, facing the window behind his desk. His hand was on the phone as if he'd just hung it up.

His head moved, as if he'd seen her reflection in the panes. When silence stretched out between them, she said, "We need to talk."

"Now?" His voice was so low, it almost didn't carry.

She cleared her throat. "Yes."

There was a long pause and then he said, "Okay."

Callie frowned as she realized something was very wrong with him.

"Jack? What's going on?"

He slowly turned the chair around and faced her. His face was frozen, his mouth set in a grim line.

"She died this afternoon."

Who? Callie wondered.

Oh, no, the little girl.

"Oh, Jack..."

His voice was utterly devoid of emotion, as if he was holding himself together with that iron will he was known for. "The funeral is going to be tomorrow afternoon, in the Jewish tradition. I'm going to go, of course. I've decided to close the office. Everyone is going to go. And then her family will be sitting shiva for the next week."

Wordlessly, she went around the desk, hoping he would let her take him into her arms. When he leaned into her, she could feel him shudder.

He took a deep breath. "I've been sitting with her and her family at night. That's why I've been getting home so late. They had this fantastic nurse from hospice. The care was amazing." She could feel his chest rise again. "I'm going to set up an endowment at the hospice center in her name. It will be—” He cleared his throat "It's going to be the first charitable donation I've ever made."

Callie held him tightly, wishing there was more she could do. When he finally lifted his head, he looked up at her.

"I know there are things left unsaid, things we need to talk about. But stay with me tonight?" he asked.

When she nodded, he took her hand and rose from the chair.





Chapter 20





Early the next morning, Callie sat on her stool, grabbed one of the solvent jars, and cracked it open. After adjusting her breathing mask, she dipped a cotton bud into the isopropanol and carefully brushed the solution over the surface of the painting. She was all the way into the center of the portrait now, right at the edge of the mirror, having logged countless hours while she and Jack were at odds. There was not much left of the cleaning to do.